FDL ( / Bradford, MA, USA)

The Heart

Tic-tac. Tic-tac. Tic-tac.
My heart, your heart, their heart.
Tic-tac, a doctor. Tic-tac, a priest. Tic-tac, a teacher.
The heart wounded by the scalpel, prayed by the priest, described in a saga. Tic-tac, an Indian; Tic-tac, a Negro, Tic-tac, a White.
My heart, your heart, their heart.
A British heart, a French heart, a German heart in a picture of blood;
a poem inspiring the love from a heart.
The color of loving in a frame on the wall with their own tic-tac. tic-tac.
An African, and a big, big Indian heart covering the earth
with exotics gods and myths, and dances and tattoos with a hidden heart. The tic-tac is a young boy, a beautiful girl or an irresistible Don Juan.
The tic-tac is the musical clock of the grandfather.
The music sings the pythonic song:
Mi abuelito tenia un reloj de pared; -- se lo compraron cuando macio;
pero un dia el reloj se paro, -- mi abuelito de pena murio.*
The tic-tac is only a memory, is a note, a drop of rain in the heart of the soul.
The heart, your heart, my heart, their heart will become a hand full of letters
of a word in the wind of a frigid winter; a sight in the mind of a loving wife,
a loving son or a loving daughter tossing flowers to the heart they loved. *My grandfather had a clock:
he got it when he was born.
But once the clock stopped
and my grandfather of sadness died.

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